


astaarit-kost say itwa sataa

by eomerking



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar and Solas are BFFs, Elvhen-bullshit, F/M, Fade-bullshit, Gen, I'm literally making stuff up about the Fade as I go, Journals, Kid-fic, Letters, Multi-POV, Qunlat, Spirit-bullshit, elfy-elfness, liberal use of qunlat, scary clever qunaris, tal-vashoth and ben-hassrath really don't mix well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:04:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eomerking/pseuds/eomerking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Be careful of how many faces you show, imekari, or else we might find a besrathari on our doorstep’</p><p>Pretending has always come easily to Suuda Adaar. Who she is depends on what is needed of her. But now she needs to be a woman divinely-chosen, one who can bear the weight of the world on her shoulders. But with the end of days so surely around the corner, and her heart leagues upon leagues away, pretending does not come as easily as it ought to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Murderer of The Divine

**Author's Note:**

> the title, roughly, should translate to 'peace comes with the end of the world'
> 
> so hi! this is my first DA fic, and I would really appreciate any feedback/reviews. enjoy!

_**From the personal journal of Cassandra Pentaghast, o**_ _**f the Seekers Of Truth.  
** _

_The Qunari that fell from the rift in the ruins of the conclave has yet to wake up. I have had the healers at Haven look at her, thoroughly, including apothecary Adan and the apostate Solas, but still we know nothing of how she came to be there. However, Solas told me that the Qunari is a mage, but that he does not believe her to have power capable of rending the sky open. I am taking that opinion under consideration; I do not know Solas well enough to discern whether he feels a sort of kinship to his fellow apostate. I have kept the knowledge of the Qunari being a mage to myself, for fear that telling anyone will lead to blame being assigned to the mages. And, even as likely as it is that the rebel mages were the ones behind the explosion, I would rather not stir things up while we are still fighting for calm. For all we know, this whole plot could be an act of the Qunari; a dictate of the Qun to spread fear throughout Thedas._

_Leliana sent me the information she has on the Qunari – letters of employment from the office of the Left Hand. Her name is Suuda Adaar, and she was the lieutenant of a mercenary group of Qunari called the Valo-Kas, whom Leliana hired to police the Conclave. No trace of any other Qunari has yet been found amongst the ruins, but some have taken that to mean that the remainder of Adaar’s company may not be dead. Leliana has sent messengers to all the nobles and officials in the surrounding area, ordering them to be on the lookout. I doubt that it will come to much; after all, not many escaped the blast._

_Little progress has been made in deciphering the mark on the Qunari’s hand. It is the same sickening green colour as the Breach, and it glows just as the Breach does too. Solas said that it will kill the Qunari, if we are not able to stop it from spreading. I am unsure of what he means by that, and whether I should be glad or not that Adaar is still alive. Perhaps the Maker kept her alive so we might extract answers from her, or perhaps she is alive so that we may seek retribution for the Divine’s death._

_Before supper this evening, I sat in the prison underneath the Chantry and watched as Solas tried more techniques to rouse the Qunari – still to no avail. Once, perhaps, I would have been made uneasy at the sight of such obvious apostasy coming from an obvious hedge-mage, but now I am only glad that we have someone of his skill to examine the prisoner. Her unresponsive state stumped the Chantry sisters quickly – those that could stomach being so close to her._

_He informed me, when first examining the Qunari, that much of the jewellery she wore was both enchanted and stamped with ruins. Between him and Minaeve, an eleven mage from the circle, they were able to remove all of it, including a strange hoop that ran through the Qunari’s nose – much like a bulls ring. Minaeve is still working on identifying the uses of many of the pieces, as she has found that much of the enchantment is both layered and very complicated._

_If she ever wakes, Adaar the Qunari will have a lot to answer for._

* * *

 

Cassandra was interrupted in her writings by a young Chantry sister whose eyes were wide and frightened. The woman burst through the door to Cassandra’s hut without preamble, and Cassandra rose to her feet immediately, her hand reaching for the sword belt on her desk.

“What is it?” Cassandra barked at the sister, who flinched.

“It’s the prisoner, Lady Cassandra! She’s waking up!”

“Then finally we shall get some answers,” Cassandra muttered, throwing sand across the page of her journal and slamming it shut. The sister had turned on her heel and fled as soon as she passed on her message. It didn’t take long for Cassandra to buckle her belt across her hips. She looked briefly at the eye staring out from her shield and grimly pressed her lips into a line.

She said a prayer out loud as she slung the shield across her back, and a whole litany of them in her head as she crossed the icy paths of Haven towards the Chantry. Sisters and civilians bowed out of her way as Cassandra stormed through the stone halls. Leliana met her at the top of the stairs that led to the hastily built cells. Before, the large room had simply been more storage, but as with the rest of the village, purposes had been altered to fit new, awful needs.

“Be wary, Cassandra. We do not know what she is capable of.” The spymaster held out a hand, as if she could calm her friend with the gesture.

Cassandra scoffed, “Are there Templars down with her?”

“Of course,” Leliana assured her, her face not betraying any single thought she had.

“Then there shall be no problems.”

Her footsteps echoed off the cold stone walls, and she was greeted by the sight of the prisoner having been dragged up into a sitting position. She was currently still unconscious, but making soft noises that assured them that wakefulness was not far away. As ever, the mark on her hand crackled and lit the room with it’s awful glow. Behind the prisoner two Templar’s stood sentinel. Cassandra could feel the Smites welling within them. Posted in four positions around the prisoner were soldiers – all of whom had their blades bared and ready.

Cassandra let her hand rest on the pommel of her sword, their well-earned caution leaking into her.

Leliana came to stand beside her, her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed at the figure of the woman who most likely murdered the divine.

“Be ready,” Cassandra said to the room, receiving nods and short, muttered confirmations.

Then, not a second later, the Qunari woke with a gasp, a _crack_ sounding as her mark flared so brightly Cassandra could barely see. She heard the sound of someone vomiting and shackles being rattled. When her vision cleared the Qunari was curled up on her front, her body held up by her elbows and her bound hands tight under her chin, a scant few inches from where she was chained to the floor. A puddle of sick was on the floor by her shoulders.

The whole room was silent but for the ragged breaths of the prisoner. Cassandra threw a wild glance Leliana’s way. The spymaster nodded.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

The Qunari hefted herself back up to a kneeling position, her eyes meeting Cassandra’s evenly. Her broad shoulders were drawn tight. She looked to be in deep pain – given how her body was wracked by shudders and her hands were balled into fists so tight that blood was starting to seep through her knuckles – but not a single flicker of emotion showed on her grey face. Anger rose so sharply within Cassandra that it took a great deal of restraint not to simply beat the answers she needed out of her prisoner.

“The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you._ ”

The statement drew no reply from the prisoner. Instead, the Qunari wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve, not bothered by the heavy weight of the chain attached to her wrists, her keen, purple gaze not leaving Cassandra once. Cassandra snarled, stepping forward to seize the quanri by her arm, forcefully uncurling the prisoner’s hands and exposing her bloodied palms into the light.

“Explain _this_!” She demanded, shaking the Qunari roughly. The prisoner didn’t react but her mark did, violently. It came to life with another loud _crack_ , demanding attention. The Qunari shuddered violently, and Cassandra released her in time for her to throw up on the floor instead of down her front.

Cassandra crouched before her, one hand going back to her sword.

“You _will_ answer me, Adaar,” she hissed. The Qunari raised her head to stare at Cassandra, her expression darkening briefly at the sound of her name before it settled back into eerie calm. Then she shuddered and opened her mouth.

“I… _cannot_.” She said, haltingly but strongly voiced, surprising them all with her lyrical accent. She was from Starkhaven, Cassandra realised. “I know…as _little_ …of what-” the Qunari shuddered once again, turning her head to retch on the floor.

“You’re lying!” Cassandra shouted, a hand raising of its own volition, ready to strike the prisoner. Leliana yanked her arm down smoothly.

“We _need_ her, Cassandra.” She turned her sharp gaze to the prisoner, her nose wrinkling slightly at the smell of vomit. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” Leliana beseeched the prisoner, her tone bordering on pleading.

“I don’t…know.” The quanri repeated, her voice laboured. She squared her shoulders and wiped her mouth again, her eyes flickering shut for the barest moment as another shudder ran through her. Cassandra scoffed and turned away.

“But the explosion, the _conclave_ ; how are you still alive? You _must_ remember something!”

That made the prisoner pause, the purple of her gaze leaving her captors to focus on the floor instead. Her shoulders dropped suddenly, and all the guards in the room gripped their weapons tighter. The quanri’s breath came a little easier when she next spoke.

“I remember running. Something – I don’t… _something_ was chasing me. Us.”

“Us?” Leliana interrupted, stepping closer to the prisoner.

“There was a …woman?” the Qunari shook her head, her dark brows furrowed. She seemed even less pleased than Cassandra at the lack of answers she was giving.

“A _woman_?” Leliana gasped, her eyes flickering to Cassandra. Cassandra wished that she could share the Nightingale’s ability to believe so quickly.

“She was trying to… but then I – I do not-”

“Enough.” Cassandra said, her temper still running short. The Qunari turned her gaze back to Cassandra, her stare flat and assessing. Cassandra’s lips curled at the sight, and she turned to the spy master instead. Together they treaded back a few steps, out of the prisoner’s earshot. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

She was acting on the advice of the elven apostate, who had theorized that the prisoner’s mark was attached to the Breach in more ways than suspected, and that with it, they might be able to seal the tear in the sky. Leliana knew of the idea as well as Cassandra did, but she had not spent the time having it explained to her by Solas.

Leliana looked uneasy at the prospect, but backed further away with a quick nod of assent, looking the Qunari over critically one last time. Cassandra turned back to the prisoner with a scowl still firmly on her face. She took the key from a pocket at her waist and detached the bolted chain from the metal hoop in the floor. The Qunari remained silent, even as Cassandra pulled her roughly to her feet.

Stood upright, the woman towered over Cassandra by nearly a head and a half, her curved horns adding even more height. The gold encased tips glinted menacingly in the mixed light. Those ornaments were something that Solas had not been able to remove, seeing as her horns had to have been dipped into the gold. The apostate had assured Cassandra that he had nullified the enchantments etched into the golds surface, however.

Cassandra gripped the heavy chain tightly. Each link was as long as her hand was wide, and thick enough that it would take a long time to saw through the iron. Even with the strength the Qunari so obviously held in her wide arms, she would not be able to break free of the chains.

“What _did_ happen?” the Qunari asked as Cassandra led her away from the cells. The Templars trailed after them, their mail clinking with each step that they took.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra said shortly, tugging on the chain and not sparing the woman behind her a glance. On the main floor of the Chantry, silence fell as Cassandra led the prisoner through its hallowed halls. Sisters gasped and muttered prayers, backing away from the intimidating figure of the prisoner.

Guards opened the great doors of the Chantry, letting the cold, wintry light flood in. the prisoner winced and turned her head from the brightness. Her hands moved too, jostling the chain in Cassandra’s palms. She tugged it in answer, and the Qunari’s head snapped towards her, her gaze squinted.

Then she looked above Cassandra’s head.

Undisguised horror covered the Qunari’s face; the first bit of emotion Cassandra had seen from the woman apart from anger. Twisting to look over her shoulder, Cassandra once again stared at the hole in the sky. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the Qunari looking between her hand and the tear.

“We call it ‘The Breach’.” Cassandra announced, pulling the prisoner’s attention back towards her. The Qunari’s expression was hard. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“It is a…hole into the Fade?” The Qunari’s gaze moved back up to the torn sky, her hands clenching.

“Yes.”

“And I am to blame for it.”

Cassandra wondered at the humourless smirk on the Qunari’s face; nothing more than an angry twist in her lips.

“I do not know what sort of magic could cause such a thing,” she said, tilting her head. Her dark hair was knotted on the top of her hair, away from her eyes, but in the swift breeze of Haven, strands had been pulled from the arrangement and now danced about her long, stern face.

“Nor do we.” Cassandra informed her, “But unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

The green glare from behind her suddenly grew tenfold, and at the same time the mark on the Qunari’s hands exploded with light. A loud, disjointed scream burst from the prisoner’s lips and she fell to the floor, doubled over her herself, her hands clutched to her chest. The Qunari pressed her head to the cold ground, even as the flare died down. Her shoulders were moving up and down as she sucked in great gusts of air; each lungful apparently doing little to ease the pain she was feeling. Cassandra stared at her prone form for a moment, casting a wary eye to the crowd slowly gathering.

The Templar’s saluted as Cassandra jutted a chin to the approaching people, turning their backs to the Qunari as they warned the crowd away. Cassandra crouched in beside of the prisoner, but the motion did little to pull the woman’s attention away from the pain.

“Adaar,” Cassandra said, pulling on the chain. There was no time to coddle prisoners. Slowly, the Qunari turned her head. Small stones clung to her skin, and a small smear of blood showed that her fall to the ground had been less than gentle.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads…and it _is_ killing you.” Cassandra explained, jabbing a finger at the sickly mark on the Qunari’s hand. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“What is it that you want me to do?” She asked, her eyebrows still creased in pain.

“We will find out. First, we need to get to Breach. It is our only chance. _Your_ only chance.”

Again the prisoner’s lip curled in that strange smirk.

“And you still think that I inflicted this upon myself.”

“Maybe not intentionally. But that remains to be seen.” Cassandra replied stiffly. “You are our only suspect.”

“And if I’m to prove my innocence, I’ll have to follow you?” the Qunari guessed.

Cassandra didn’t deign to answer, pulling the chain towards her. The prisoner’s hands were pulled with it, and Cassandra used the movement to grasp the woman by her arm and once again pull her to her feet.

“You will follow, innocent or not,” She jangled the chain for emphasis. The prisoner wiped her forehead with her arm, removing the stones and further smearing herself with blood. Cassandra suspected that that may have been the object of the move.

“If the Breach threatens everyone, as you say it does, I will not refuse you my cooperation.” The Qunari said simply, surprising Cassandra.

“Then…”

“I’ll do what I can.”

* * *

 

Suuda was used to people parting before her; crowds splitting down the middle to let her past. She was used to frightening people, to making mothers turn their children away. She was even used to being revulsion, used to the hard stares and muttered slurs.

Suuda wasn’t quite used to the hatred, to having people spit at her feet as she’s dragged past them.

Her captor took off the shackles at the village gates, handing them to the guard stationed there and then waving the Templars that had followed them away. The guard took the manacles hesitantly, then glared in her direction and spat on the floor at her feet. Suuda cast a glance down at the raw skin of her wrists, a bloody purple instead of grey. They had been numb ever since she woke up, and the Seeker had not hesitated in using the chain to steer her where she wanted.

She was levelled with a flat stare.

“Do not mistake me, you are still a prisoner – and I can, and will, kill you if you overstep - mage or no.”

“Meravas,” Suuda replied with a solemn nod, unwisely curious to see her captor’s reaction. The Seeker’s eyes narrow at the small Qunlat phrase, and Suuda concluded that it would do no good for her to speak any more of her mother’s language.

The Seeker set a fast past – one that would be punishing had Suuda not the legs long enough to easily keep up. As it was, the only problem running caused was that every time her feet thumped into the ground the headache behind her eyes grew.

A little while outside of the gates, the mark on her hand flares to life; briefly, painfully. Suuda stumbled, the sudden intensity of the pain stealing her breath. It was nothing like the first flare outside the Chantry, but still enough to give her pause. The Seeker turned, sharp words on the edge of her tongue.

Had anyone else been her captor, Suuda would have let her face form into a snarl – a way to remind them that she is not a woman to be easily cowed. But the Seeker needed no reminding of the threat Suuda posed to both her and whoever she was working for, and Suuda was not eager to hasten the arrival of a noose around her neck.

And, she was sure that the effect of any snarl she could muster right then would be _less_ than desirable. Her vitaar had been wiped away, her jewellery removed, and her hair tucked on top her head in the style lay sisters wore under their hats. Her armour had probably been dismantled, and weaponry thrown into the nearest forge. The thought of her hard-earned belongings being destroyed was enough to make Suuda clench her jaw.

The blood on her forehead had cooled and dried, and when the Seeker turned her eyes back to the road, Suuda wiped her palms across her face. The blood from the small wounds caused by her broken nails smeared well.

The Seeker talked a lot as they traversed the space leading up to the destroyed temple – which was not something Suuda would have expected of a woman so surly. Her captor mainly told her of recent events; the Conclave that ended in tragedy, and the heightened tensions between Mages and Templars. The brewing war was nothing that Suuda hadn’t heard of before; it was why the Valo-Kas were hired, as impartial peace-keepers.

Shokrakar had not wanted to take the contract for the job, well aware of the Chantry’s fickle and hateful nature towards their kind. She didn’t want to risk their company on the whims of humans – even though humans made up some of their own numbers. It took Suuda several nights of arguing to convince her friend that lending a hand in human affairs might not be a bad thing.

Had she known how spectacularly badly it would end up, she would have kept her damned mouth shut.

Suuda responded carefully to every question the Seeker posed, and when she could she phrased them in a way that would require more of an explanation from her captor. That only worked the first few times, and after that they walked in silence, the Seeker stewing in silent anger at Suuda’s tricky wording.

The mark on her hand and the Breach continued to flare in tandem, the time between each event gradually decreasing. The pain she had been feeling ever since waking was steadily spreading up her arm; unbearable pins and needles that made her whole body feel hot. It throbbed in time with the incessant pain in her head.

Suuda avoided looking at her hand. She could constantly see the soft, green glow it emitted; one echoed by the colour of the sky. Suuda stumbled a few times when the Breach flared particularly badly, but she had nowhere near the reaction that she did when they stepped outside the Chantry. The Seeker cast her strange, almost concerned looks, obviously aware of the strain that built in the Qunari’s neck at each incident, or how her hands and face were always freshly bloodied afterwards.

Or perhaps she was wary; Suuda berated herself for being so slow to realise. Blood and Mages. Not the Chantry’s favourite combination.

Suuda did not know how far away from the Temple they currently were, but she knew they were getting closer simply by the density of the smoke in the air. The Seeker had decided she was worth talking to again, and was speaking lowly on how when she ‘fell’ from one of the rifts, there was a second figure behind her. Suuda said nothing, thinking on the Nightingale’s almost reverent reaction upon hearing Suuda confirm the rumour.

Halfway across another of the wide stone bridges, the eye of the Chantry emblazoned on half of the paving stones, the Breach flared yet again. It caused a stronger reaction in her mark that the last few times, eliciting a surprised grunt from Suuda. She only had a second to ponder whether the strength of the pain she felt was due to proximity to the Breach.

The Seeker’s shoulder slammed into hers, throwing them both backwards as pieces of Fade-touched debris rained down where Suuda had been standing only a moment before. The debris collided into the bridge with an almighty crash that echoed around the valley and within Suuda’s head. The bridge gave way immediately, mortar and stone bricks exploding outwards.

Suuda tried to turn herself around, but by the time she thought to there was nothing under her feet. She and the Seeker tumbled to the ground, thumping into the ruined remains of the bridge on the way down. The Seeker landed several feet in front of her, already scrambling to her feet by the time Suuda hit the ground.

Breath hissed from her teeth as she stood, the pain in her chest a familiar one. At least two of her ribs were fractured – if not broken all together. No sooner had she sent a hand inside the coat she was wearing did the surface of the lake start bubbling.

At first, Suuda thought it was due to the heat of the debris that impacted it, searing through the frozen ice and boiling the water beneath it. But, like everything else in the hellish valley, the frothing surface was the same colour as the broken sky. Sharp spikes rose from the green bubbles suddenly, cracked and crystalline. The Seeker invoked Andraste’s name and stepped towards the shards, which now looked as if they were billowing green smoke.

Then a demon burst forth, screeching as it tore free from the earth.

“Stay behind me!” the Seeker bellowed, unsheathing her sword and unhooking her shield. She advanced on the demon – a shade, Suuda realised. It seemed eager to meet the Seeker, gliding across the frozen lake, leaving clouds of shadow behind it. Suuda looked between the two opponents, sure of the Seeker’s ability to battle such a lesser demon. She backed up a few steps, once again reaching a probing hand into her jacket in an attempt to find out where she should send her pitiful reserve of magic.

She kept her eyes firmly on the Seeker and her foe, oblivious to the fact that the froth from the bubbling mess was now cutting across the ice towards her, spewing green smoke as it went. It was only when a crystal spike erupted right in front of her did Suuda realise the danger.

Her hands went to her sides, where her knives would normally hang, habitual reaction forgetting that she was, in fact, an unarmed prisoner. Grimacing at the pain and her predicament, Suuda stumbled back a few steps, tripping over the shattered remains of a crate that had been on the bridge. She looked to her feet and then to the shards, making her decision as a clawed hand ripped through the misted hole.

The shade burst free with a howl, and Suuda met it by plunging a splintered piece of wood through its face.

It’s shrieks were unholy; the sound pierced Suuda’s ears and she nearly answered it with her own scream. Instead she swung the plank she held in her other hand, the nail in the end of it sinking deep into the demon’s shoulder. It responded by lunging towards her, talons raking through the air, missing her chest by the smallest of margins. Suuda jumped back, releasing the plank and propelling herself up a pile of rubble.

Her new elevated position allowed her a clean view of the shade’s chest, exposed by it’s outstretched arms. Suuda thrusted forward with the splintered wood, angling for where the heart would be. The shade fell with a wail, dissolving back into shadow.

“Ebost issala.” Suuda spat at the remains of the shade, now little more than dust on the ice.

“Drop your weapon. _Now_.”

Suuda let go of the shattered wood immediately, raising her hands. She had not heard the Seeker approach, but she could very well see the longsword being brandished in her direction.

“Ebasit kata, Seeker. I mean no harm to you.” The Qunlat fell from her lips before Suuda could reign them in. Pain and the exhaustion of her condition was making her careless.

The Seeker frowned, looking from Suuda’s torn palms to the bloody chunks of wood at her feet.

“You did not use magic?” She asked, cautiously confused.

“I do not use my magic in battle,” Suuda replied, lowering her hands. She kept the fact that she _couldn’t_ use her magic in battle to herself.

“What? I have never heard of such a… It does not matter.” The Seeker sighed. “Check the crates behind you, there will be something you can use.”

Suuda stayed frozen in place. She did not think the Seeker to be one for trickery, but none of her fellows would think less of her for striking down a Qunari for arming themselves.

The Seeker sighed again, but harshly.

“We do not have _time_. I see now that I cannot protect you, and I… I should remember that you came willingly.”

Suuda nodded once, trusting that the Seeker was truly as truthful a woman as she seemed to be. Upon inspection, she found that some of the crates had not been destroyed by the explosion of the bridge. Most of them had contained rations or supplies, though one had contained a large supply of steel tipped arrows – but no bow. The Seeker rifled through one of them and came out with several small bottles of potions. They glowed weakly, and Suuda very nearly grimaced. Their potency was most likely lacking.

When she was done, Suuda pointed the Seeker to the remaining, still locked crate. It looked, to Suuda, to be a weapons storage.

The Seeker smashed the lock open with the flat of her shield, kicking open the lid of the crate. Inside were half a dozen broadswords, all from the same cast and all bearing the spiked eye of the Chantry on their hilts. Suuda plucked two of them from the wooden casing, twisting her wrists idly. They were oddly-weighted and not suited to her style of fighting, but she doubted she would be happy about any weapon until she found out about her own. She slipped the hilts into the loops on her belt.

“You are a very strange Mage.” The Seeker told her as they left the wreckage of the bridge. She offered Suuda a few of the small potion bottles, enough to fit in Suuda’s hand. The red liquid inside sloshed sluggishly.

“Thank you,” Suuda replied, to both the potions and the Seeker’s comment. The Seeker was frowning, her gaze directed down at Suuda’s hands. Belatedly, Suuda realised they were shaking. She deposited the potions in her pocket, and brought her hands up, gesturing for the Seeker to start walking.

Her palms were a bloody mess of torn flesh and splinters. The heel of her hands were marred by a dozen crescent-shaped wounds, the result of her reflex action every time the mark flared. The mark itself was still clearly visible, the blood slipping around it’s ragged edges.

“Heal yourself.” The Seeker ordered her, “You are no use crippled.”

Suuda obliged, her magic flaring briefly in her palms, and the splinters forced out of her skin and falling to the floor. She had a good enough idea of which of her ribs were injured that she could heal herself without alerting the Seeker to the fact that she was more injured than she let on. Once again silence fell as they started running again, crossing the lake and starting on a small, barely-there path. Apparently they were taking the long way.


	2. Fade Walker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Chantry would have a fit if they knew what kind of Mages they kept the company of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this in stops and starts, so I apologise if there is any incoherence within. Also, I apologise for how weird this has gotten so quickly #fadebullshit
> 
> ((I'm sorry about the abundance of Elvish, and should forewarn you that it is most likely highly innacurate and cobbled together from FenXShiral's absolutley amazing 'Project Elvhen'))

Solas stared at the tall stone house with an intense curiosity building in his breast. Once, twice, _three_ separate times he had attempted to breach the wooden doors, and all three times he did little more than scuff the cherry-red paint. The house had stayed cheerily and infuriatingly still; the Veil mist barely stirred around the entryway. Even now, with Adaar in such a deep – but different - state of unconsciousness, Solas was unsure that he was strong enough to blow the door down.

Which was just _one_ of the reason his lack of access irked him so: after all, Adaar had displayed a startling lack of magic, so how was it that her mind was so well fortified against him?

As he had the last times he had tried, Solas stepped cautiously down the cobbled path, avoiding the trailing leaves of the bright, flowered plants that lined it. The blooms gave off a strong, heady scent; one that he could not place. Perhaps they were a misremembered conjuring of the Qunari’s mind, or, unlikely, it was that Solas had never encountered the flora in his waking moments.

The flowers didn’t look wicked, but he knew far better than to get close to them. The red door loomed before him, tall and wide, built to allow entry to the largest of Thedas’ races. As he drew closer to it, Solas could feel the hum of magic that wasn’t quite Adaar’s, but was so closely entwined it was almost impossible to tell the difference. It wasn’t the magic of the Anchor, for he knew that magic intrinsically.

Above the small front garden, the Breach pulsed in the sky and coloured the world outside the wooden fence an awful, sickly green.

It was the reason it was so easy to tell this from a dream; in the waking world Adaar had closed the Breach just hours ago.

This time in Adaar’s dream, instead of silence, Solas noticed that the air around him was full of small, subtle sounds. Distant birdsong, breeze rustling through the flowers, the lazy buzz of a dancing bumble bee. And inside the house, there was quiet murmuring, the noise slipping out from underneath the bright door. It was different, and strange, and Solas was made even more cautious. Still, he is not cautious enough to be afraid, as truly, what danger could a mage with barely enough magic to heal her own wounds cause _him_?

Then, as he was building his mana up to work on the door, it was suddenly pulled inward. Solas’ magic immediately flared into a barrier all around him as the bright presence of a Spirit flooded out from the house.

“Oh, Friend, _look_! A visitor! I had thought there was someone out there. _Savhalla!_ ”

Solas blinked at the Spirit in front him, surprised at the cheery greeting from the Spirit who was smiling back earnestly at him from their surprisingly solid visage. It took the form of a young Dalish elf, one who looked barely old enough to have earned the vallaslin that marred their dark face. They beamed at him, showing off crooked teeth and creasing the red lines upon their cheeks. Bright, wholesome light seemed to spill from every pore of the Spirits being.

But 'surprised’ wasn’t quite the word to describe how Solas felt about how Suuda Adaar, the surly Tal-Vashoth so recently pardoned of the Divine’s death, apparently kept the company of Spirits.

“Of course there’s a visitor, Curiosity,” a voice cut in before Solas could try and speak to the bright Spirit. Another Spirit ambled into view, cross-armed, and addressing their fellow by name. This one looked human, wan and tired, the strength of youth leaked from their arms but not their mind. Heavy brows covered sharp, piercing eyes that stared down at Solas imperiously, sniffing, “It is the same Elvhen who keeps trying to bash in poor Suuda’s door. It’s all very tiresome.”

“Oh. I shouldn’t have let him in then, should I?” Curiosity asked, chewing on their lip. “Oh, Memory, Suuda will be so annoyed! I should _not_ have opened the door!” Quickly, Solas slid his foot in the way of the door as Curiosity tried to slam it shut. It turned out that the wooden door was as heavy as it looked. He drew on the Fade around him to stop his toes swelling up like a balloon.

“Peace, friends, I mean Adaar no harm,”

“Adaar?” Curiosity asked eagerly, leaning forward around the door. Solas smiled; it had been a long time since he had met a Spirit of Curiosity. The brilliance of their hunger to learn was somewhat diminished by their tendency to forget. It was odd to see one so close to a Spirit of Memory, whose aversion to anything new often caused them to dwell and moulder. Perhaps they were good for each other, as opposites often were.

“Suuda,” Memory reminded Curiosity, shoving them out of the way and scowling at Solas. “What wish you, Elvhen? Suuda has nothing for you.” They snapped, keeping an un-cowed Curiosity firmly behind their shoulder.

Then, as Spirits were wont to do, Memory changed, flickering in and out of shapes that Solas had once known. Seeing unblemished, pure Elvhen features was both a relief and a hardship, and Solas flinched away. Memory’s borrowed face frowned gently, and hands stretched out to caress his cheeks. Their palms were cool and soft against Solas’ cheek, and it was difficult not to lose himself in the embrace that Memory so easily offered.

 _“Na’dirthara’tel, Solas. As lasa enaste’tel sahlin.”_ Memory chastised, thumbs stroking the arch of Solas’ cheek-bones.

 _You cannot learn anything here, Pride. She is unable to give you answers right now._  

“Pride?” Curiosity asked, moving quickly into Solas’ space. Their hands wrapped around Solas’ forearm, and Curiosity let out a slight, pained whimper at the contact. Their nostrils flared as they tapped into Solas’ knowledge and experiences, tears springing into their eyes. It's vallaslin grew darker, bloodier. “Oh, _Mar’Hellathen. Garas quenathra?”_

 _He of the noble struggle. What are you doing here, in this place?_ The sudden flurry of Elvish was another result of the Spirits being influenced by Solas' presence, and stung just as much as the visual.

Solas was saved from Curiosity’s pity and Memory’s accusation by the presence of a third, bigger Spirit, who pulled the two lesser Spirits away with a slight wave of their hand. Their presence was such that Solas very nearly wheeled back, and he was startled by how he had not noticed the third Spirit before; too busy wallowing in the feelings that the Spirit's had so easily conjured. It was brighter than Curiosity, but not in a way that was blinding, and held more depth than Memory, but was not as lost in it’s own being. It was a calm and pleasant presence.

Memory was still looking at him keenly, and Curiosity was still on the brink of tears. Solas looked away.

“Enough. You are distressing him, and Suuda does not need the added burden in her dreams.” The Spirit said, drawing closer to Solas and smiling at him. The Spirit was beautiful in a way that was wholly Fade-like, their skin and features ever shifting and changing. It radiated light, was wrapped in it like a cloth made of pure sunlight.

“A Spirit of Peace,” Solas murmured, awed. Peace was as uncommon in this world as Wisdom was, and spent more of itself on those who could never know it. He had not seen a Spirit of Peace since Uthenera, and many more years beforehand.

“ _Andaran atish’an, Solas, ea son. Ma’melin Atisha_.” Peace’s calm washed over him, filled with warmth and fulfilment that Solas had not felt in a millennium. It was hard to push those feelings aside; they were drug-like and dizzying.

Solas smiled at the Spirits words;  _Welcome, be well, I am Peace._

“I apologise, Peace, I did not mean to intrude.” This Spirit of Peace was not one that he recognised, but was certainly one old enough to recognise him, whatever form he took. It was almost jarring to be in the presence of a Spirit who would not need to get close to him to know him.

Peace smiled. “And you did not. It was our mistake for allowing Curiosity to man the door.”

Solas looked to the Spirit in question, who was scuffing the floor with their toes like a child.

“Odd,” he commented, “to let Curiosity so near to a place such as this.”

“I wanted to see Suuda!” Curiosity explained, looking up from their feet, “Peace does not let me leave the house,” They finished glumly, and Memory snorted. Memory still had the countenance of an Elvhen clinging to it, making it difficult for Solas to look upon the Spirit without pain.

“We all remember very well what happened the last time we let _you_ loose around a magical catastrophe. Suuda still bears the scars from it. You would not even heed Wisdom.” Memory said snidely.

Curiosity wilted further, their form fading and becoming nearly translucent. Peace tutted and waved a hand through Memory’s head, pushing the spirit away from both Curiosity and Solas. They gave both of their fellow spirits a firm stare before laying a hand across Solas’ shoulder.

“Come, Friend, Suuda is this way.”

Peace led him through the stone house, across blue tiled floors that were warm against his feet. Every inch of the house was neat and tidy, decorated and well-loved, but whenever Solas tried to focus on a featured it blurred and faded, and he was met with Peace’s bland smile.

“Suuda has charged me with keeping this realm whilst she recovers, Elvhen, and I will not have you poking your nose where it is unwanted.”

“I apologise, Peace.” It was difficult not to lapse into Elvhen in this place, where Spirits conversed in it so freely with him. But Solas did not want to Adaar to know him as well or as easily as Spirits did.

“You may call me Atisha, if you prefer it. Suuda does.” Peace said suddenly, surprising Solas. It was if the Spirit had gleaned his thoughts.

“Adaar calls you by an Elvhen name?”

“Suuda calls most things by Elvhen names. I have been her companion since she was a child, along with Wisdom and many other of our brethren. It has been our honour and pleasure to teach her as we once did children of Elvhenan.”

“Wisdom? Truly?” Solas gasped, astonished.

“ _Vindarthal, lethal’lin._ ” _It is so, my friend._ Atisha’s easy smile was luring him into his native tongue, and Solas was glad to go to it. Wary, but glad.

“ _Y’ma’telsilem’tel ash Elvhen’tel?” But it does not bother you then, that she is not Elvhen?_ Solas asked, infinitely curious as to why so many powerful Spirits would gather around a Qunari mage who could probably only just light a candle – and not without difficulty.

“ _Tamahn tel’Elvhen, Solas. Es’an vareis banafelasem. Shasha’danemen banal’ras.”_

_There are no Elvhen, Solas. They are all gone, so many withered away. Only lonely broken shadows remain._

_“”_ You would not seek to aid the Dalish?" Solas was surprised, his tongue slipping back into the common language. He was usually alone in his condemnation of the Dalish, with Spirits rallying to help the fallen People. Atisha’s ghostly lips twisted in a sad smile.

“I have attempted to guide so many of the Dalish. But I am a Spirit, only the young are willing to listen. And it it the young who are so heavily guarded from that which they call  _demons._ _”_ Atisha explained, their mouth twisting harshly, looking at him like Solas might share in their dismay and pain.

“Atisha?” A voice called weakly from upstairs, shattering the quite moment of solitary conversation, “Is that the Elf with you?”

Adaar’s accent was thick and almost indecipherable due to the potent feelings of exhaustion and pain, as it had been as she had slogged up the mountainside to get to the Breach. Solas had tried to heal her once, and Adaar had nearly taken his head off with her borrowed, ill-held swords. She had conversed with him easily enough, quickly understanding his meanings about the Rifts’ connection with the Breach, but still maintained a look in her eye that meant she did not trust any of her company in the slightest. She trusted not even Varric, who wanted nothing at all from her.

“ _Elf_ ,” Atisha murmured, quietly amused and smiling once again, “It is lucky for you that Curiosity was not the one to lead you to Suuda.”

“That could have been bad,” Solas agreed with a quick smirk. He did not particularly want to be outed to the Inquisition so soon, especially to the one that the people were now calling ‘Herald’. Humans were apparently quick to dole out titles, even to the _beastly Qunari_.

“It is indeed the Elf Solas, Suuda.” Atisha pitched their voice loud enough for Adaar to hear. “I am bringing him to you now.”

Atisha led Solas up a flight of stairs that were wrongly proportioned for him, making him lope awkwardly – though he refused to use the banister for support. They were too high and deep for him to walk comfortably, but he didn’t want to try and push his luck by changing them, even though he could have quite easily. Atisha traversed the space easily enough, their feet not even touching the ground as they glided upwards, leaving soft, flickering threads of glowing Fade behind them.

There were several doors on the upstairs hall, but Atisha waved their hand before Solas could do little more than look at them, replacing the wood with a continuation of the stonework.

Solas was gestured through the one remaining door as Atisha stepped aside, smiling at him beautifully.

A latticed window took up much of one wall, and sunlight streamed through it – untouched by the green of the Breach. It painted the room golden. Soft looking, well-worn furniture crowded into the space, and nearly every surface was cluttered with trinkets and objects Solas could see no meaning in, but obviously meant a lot to Adaar to be so well remembered. A large bed took up a good portion of the floor space, and it was covered in a dozen throws and blankets and a whole host of pillows.

Adaar was sat in a chair by the lit fireplace, and he could see even from a distance that she was shivering. Her hair was braided and knotted in an intricate, Qunari way, and her face and ears were once more full of gold studs and hoops. However, she wasn’t wearing the dark, toxic paint that Solas had had to wipe off her, nor was her face smeared with blood as it had been the last time Solas had seen her. She looked more fearsome than she did outside of the Fade, but even the addition of all of her jewellery and enchantments couldn’t draw attention away from the fact that she was clearly the wrong colour grey and was shaking.

She had not looked that unwell in the real world, but then that was the nature of Fade-sustained injuries.

“Hello, Solas.”

“Adaar,” Solas replied, inclining his head. The Qunari, for a moment, looked as if she was about to say something. Then she swallowed and looked into the flames. A few moments passed and Adaar physically relaxed herself, her hands slipping from fists on her lap and her keen, purple gaze moving to Solas.

“I apologise for not greeting you properly when I saw you today, Dream-Walker.”

Solas smiled wryly; of course Adaar would know at least some of his nature if she kept such company. And, of course, it was not as if he was subtle as he tried to tear his way into her Fade-house.

“It is no worry, Adaar. I am grateful for it.”

Adaar’s lips twitched. “The Chantry would have a fit if they knew what kind of Mages they kept the company of.”

Solas smirked in return. “I very much doubt that they will ever find out,” it was a silent promise and a subtle question, one he knew Adaar capable of understanding. She nodded slightly, her eyes flickering from the flames to his own. He didn’t know for how long she would keep her silence, but Solas saw no point - and only harm - in revealing the friends Adaar had to Chantry zealots.

Adaar’s eyes turned back to the fire, and he could tell by the tension in her jaw that she was in a great deal of pain.

“Why is it that you’re here, Solas?”

“He came to see you, Suuda,” Atisha interrupted, gentle but admonishing, “and you have not even offered him a seat.”

Adaar grimaced and waved a hand at the chair opposite her, “Apologies, Solas. I am unused to such… corporeal guests.”

“There was no offence meant and certainly none taken, Adaar.”

She appraised him evenly. “You’re very polite for a wandering Elf hedge-Mage.”

“It has been said,” Solas said amicably, lowering himself into the plush, green armchair. His feet barely touched the floor, and Adaar’s eyes danced with amusement when she noticed, “Though,” Solas continued, “The same could be said of a wandering Tal-Vashoth Mage,”

“I think, Suuda, that Solas would like to know how it is that we met. Or why it is that you keep the company of so many of my fellows.” Atisha said, taking it upon themselves to steer the conversation away from unnecessary niceties. Adaar raised an eyebrow.

“You always say that I tell that story very badly, and that I have all of the imagery of a brick wall.”

“I meant it only as an encouragement, my friend.” Atisha smiled pleasantly, and Adaar snorted.

“Of course,” Adaar said dryly, and Solas saw the first smile on her face that wasn’t wholly negative. He supposed that he would only ever see such smile in her own mind, where she was not as guarded. Adaar turned to Solas, her eyebrow still raised, “Is that true, Elf? Did you truly traverse the Fade in such fraught times just to hear how I became acquainted with these good Spirits?”

Solas laughed happily at her words, “No, I cannot say that was the reason I journeyed here. It was first because I wished to view your internal condition after your encounter with the Breach, and then I returned simply because you would not let me in.”

Adaar’s grin was sharp and fleeting, “I very nearly came out of the house just to force you to go away. You were making an awful racket.”

“So Memory told me. I apologise for abusing your paintwork as I did,” Solas grinned back at her, earning him a single, loud bark of laughter.

“I would suppose that is why you’re back here now? To ‘view my internal condition’?” Adaar said, sobering quickly.

“Indeed.” Solas replied, steepling his fingers under his chin and leaning forward, “Though I didn’t expect to find yourself with these aforementioned acquaintances.”

Adaar shrugged, “Is this where you would like to hear the story of our various meetings?”

“If you would indulge me,” Solas spread his hands, and Adaar settled back in her chair. When she spoke it was if she was telling a story that had been told many times before, no matter how dull Atisha said her imagery was. Her hands moved as she spoke, firelight glinting off jewelled rings. Her purple eyes were eerie, and her accented voice made the words flow soft and poetically through the air.

“I was only a child when I first met Atisha, though they had known me for a long time. It was Atisha who came to my mother in Par Vollen as she felt the first, weak flickers of magic in her womb, and felt fear for a child that was not hers to keep. Atisha saw her pain and her conflict, and though she could not feel it, my mother was helped in her resolutions. When she fled the island it was Atisha who kept her dreams calm and restful, and it was Atisha who warned away danger on the road as my mother made it to her new home.”

Flames dipped and grew in time with her story, and Solas marvelled at how well connected Adaar was to the Fade - and also at Atisha's obviously very high standard for story-telling.

“Atisha kept my mother strong during labour, and eased her mind as she raised a child in a foreign land. And they were always around me as well, though I could not yet feel them. Then, when the flickers of magic formed into something tangible, Atisha smothered the flames and taught me how to force Mana growth inwards instead of outwards.”

“Atisha stunted your magic?” Solas interrupted, nearly aghast. He looked wildly to the Spirit, who had only proud-eyes for the Qunari.

“Magic is something neither I nor my mother ever wanted in our house, Solas.” Adaar said firmly, not a single ounce of regret colouring her tone, “The dangers are far too much for Tal-Vashoth in a foreign land.”

“Yet to rid you of your magic…!” Solas protested, gaining no response but a bland look from Adaar.

“I was not cut off from it, only had it turned in another direction.”

“Suuda has not suffered from the lack of it, Solas.” Atisha said calmly. “Where you sit now is evidence of that. She is _erelan_ , but not a born   _I've'an'virelan_ \- a fade-walker. Do you not think that is a great feat of magic? That she had not the talent but learnt it anyway?”

Atisha spoke the words with such pride, that their chosen child could become a fade-walker without the natural-born inclination. Solas' mouth turned downwards into a tight scowl.

“You speak of _great mages_ , yet think of how great she could have been had you not robbed her of her promise!”

“Solas,” Adaar said sharply, “My magic is yours neither to grieve nor dictate how it should have been spent. It is done, and I am glad of it.”

There were a few beats of silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Solas breathed heavily through his nose and Adaar looked on with an odd air of confusion.

“It is not as if I have been made Tranquil,” She said, “though I don’t quite understand why you would care either way.”

“I shall always care in matters of Magic and the Fade, Adaar. It is my nature and duty.” Solas said with finality, glancing at Atisha, who nodded gently. Adaar caught the look and raised an eyebrow, but did nothing more than gaze at her friend curiously. Atisha crossed the room, leaving their vigil at the doorway to rest lightly on the large bed. Solas looked on carefully, unsure of the Spirit’s intention and of how long it would be wise to intrude on Adaar’s dream space.

“It is best, Suuda, to let secrets be kept by those that hold them.” They said, smiling wistfully but earnest, “After all, we all keep some part of ourselves hidden, do we not?”

Adaar turned her attention to Solas, lavender eyes sharp and assessing. Solas met her gaze evenly, and both wondered, quietly, what it was that the other would strive so hard to keep secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd /really/ appreciate some thoughts on this. It wasn't the direction i thought the chapter would take, but it happened notheless *shrugs*.  
> I'm super sorry if the whole Elvhen translation malark seems clunky; I'm not entirely sure yet which is the best way to go about it.

**Author's Note:**

> updates will be sporadic, bc my time management is absolutely awful (sorry). i hope you liked the first chapter, and thanks for reading!


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